Page 100 of Double Daddies
My car is on the curb, but I hardly see my black Audi Q8 as I walk right past it. I want to stretch my legs—exercise always helps me think, and I have a lot to think about at the moment. Not only that, but I want to see the neighborhood Cami lives in—where my child might live one day.
I’ve gone about three blocks before I decide I have no cause for complaints. It’s nice. The apartment buildings are nice, the yards well maintained. There’s even a small playground, and I stand there for longer than I probably should, staring at the pair of empty swings, watching as the breeze makes them sway. There’s a colorful jungle gym and I gaze at it, wondering what my child might look like gripping those dark blue bars.
There was a time when I would have sneered at such simple accommodations, but cancer is a great equalizer. I now know that everyone doesn’t need the same things to be happy. Afterall, my father’s fortune hasn’t really bought me happiness, has it? Luxury, yes, and ease… but I am old enough to know that there’s no specific balance in the bank that can make you happy.
Cami… that night with her was one of the rare nights of happiness in my life. And to hear that she could be carrying my child… it was indescribable, the feeling inside my chest. It’s equal parts fear, joy, and hope. But there’s a problem: Ben. Clearly, Cami truly cares for him, which means that no matter what the DNA test shows, he will be in the picture.
Sure, I’ll admit that I’d considered wooing her away with fancy gifts and trips that he would never be able to compete with, but even as the thought crossed my mind, I discarded it. That was the easy way, and I don’t want to win Cami the easy way. I’m lost in thought when I realize a mother is giving me strange glances, then looking back to her toddler playing in the sandbox. I realize then I have a scowl on my face and decide to head back before I start a panic at the playground.
I turn and head for my car, but I can’t shake my thoughts. Ben is a problem I don’t know how to solve.
Chapter Four
Cami
It’s actually a relief to get called in. The air back in the apartment had been so stifling with male ego, I was having a hard time breathing. Or maybe it’s just because seeing Ryle again, hearing his story, conflicted me in ways I’m unprepared for. I love Ben. I’ve loved Ben a long time, and even though I can’t help but feel frustrated with him right now, that love hasn’t changed.
But when I look at Ryle, that one wild night comes flooding back, igniting my memory and my senses far too easily for my liking. The confusion would be enough to drive anyone insane, and add pregnancy hormones to the mix, and it’s a perfect mess. Just now, a shift at the ER seems more straightforward.
Besides, I kinda thrive in the chaos when it’s for work. That’s what makes me good at what I do.
“What’s up?” I ask Helen as I stride up to the nurse’s station.
“Three traumas came in at once,” she tells me, handing over a stack of cream file folders. “You know, the usual.”
I nod. “What’s the current status of the floor?”
“Hmmm, Dr. Henderson is with room 223, Dr. North with 220, but they had us call you in for 217 because no one else answered their page.”
Another nod. This is so routine, I could do it in my sleep at this point. “What’s the status with the patient?”
Helen doesn’t answer immediately. She’s looking rather intently at the counter.
“Helen? Room 217? What kind of trauma did they suffer?”
Reluctantly, she meets my eyes. “It was… self-inflicted.”
“GSW? Attempted suicide? What?”
She shakes her head, but her lips are folded. I can’t decide if she wants to grimace or is trying to hide a smile.
“Are they going to bleed out while I stand here waiting for you to tell me what’s going on?”
This at least gets a reaction. “No, of course not. You know me better than that, Cami.”
“You’re not giving me a lot to go on,” I point out.
“Well… they just…”
Suddenly, realization dawns and I swallow back a groan. “Is it butt stuff?”
Helen’s eyes shoot to mine, and she nods.
I let out the sigh this time. “Great. They called me in to remove a dime bag?”
“I don’t think?—”
“Never mind.” I wave a hand, already walking away. Helen clearly is too shy to discuss the particulars, and frankly, I’m not in any mood to deal with it.
